Page 26 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“You are too kind, duchess,” Lady Bembridge replied, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Though I must say, your gown is a triumph. Emerald suits you perfectly.”

Diana caught the subtle tilt of Lady Bembridge’s head as she cast a knowing glance at Gilbert, who remained impassive but for the faintest twitch of his lips.

“Indeed,” Lord Bembridge added, his baritone rich with approval. “It is a pleasure to see the duke accompanied so elegantly. London is all the better for your return.”

“London does not lack for grandeur,” Gilbert replied wryly. “But I admit, we are pleased to be back.”

Diana sensed the weight of eyes on them, a ripple of whispers threading through the room like an undercurrent. Her pulsequickened, but Gilbert’s steady presence beside her lent an unexpected calm.

“You have gathered quite the assembly tonight,” he said smoothly. “I trust it will be a memorable evening.”

“Undoubtedly,” Lady Bembridge replied with a gracious nod, though her sharp, appraising gaze lingered on Diana.

“Shall we?” Gilbert murmured, his hand brushing lightly against Diana’s back. She straightened, drawing strength from the simple touch, and allowed him to guide her into the ballroom’s dazzling expanse.

The voices behind them swelled in a chorus of speculation and judgment, but Diana kept her comportment in check and her steps unhurried. Whatever the ton now whispered, she knew they had already succeeded in making their mark.

A slight sense of self-consciousness filled Diana as they stepped beyond the receiving line. She could feel the glances sliding her way, and heard the faint murmur of voices that followed them. It felt as though every fan fluttered in her direction, each raised eyebrow silently casting judgment or curious speculation. Despite her earlier resolve, their scrutiny set her nerves on edge. Did they all suspect her of scheming, as the rumors claimed? Did they pity Gilbert, or mock him? Beneath the swirl of fabric and perfume, she half-imagined she caught whispers of her own name.

“Your Grace,” Gilbert’s voice cut through her apprehension. She glanced up to find him studying her with a gaze that sparked unexpected warmth deep within her. “Shall we waltz?”

She blinked. The waltz was already beginning, the orchestra shifting from the lively tempo of the quadrille to a sweeping melody. A hush of surprise flitted across some nearby guests, perhaps because it was slightly bold for the duke to request a waltz so soon, or because of the closeness the dance afforded. Yet Gilbert merely offered his hand, a faint challenge dancing in his eyes.

“Of… of course,” she answered, slipping her gloved hand into his. Their touch made her pulse quicken.

Fans snapped open like the fluttering of wings as Diana and Gilbert passed. She caught snippets of murmured conversation.

“How lovely she looks…” one matron said.

“I had my doubts, of course…” another added.

Diana tried to ignore the mixture of admiration and skepticism in their eyes. The buzz of the crowd seemed to swell, as though the very act of waltzing together was enough to spark fresh speculation. Diana felt their stares prickling along her skin but forced herself to focus on Gilbert’s steady, warm hand against her back.

He led her onto the parquet floor, the swirl of dancers parting as they took up their position.

The lilting tune guided them into a graceful turn, and at once, Diana became achingly aware of the press of Gilbert’s palm against her waist. The gentle pressure steadied her as they began to move in time with the music, their steps gliding in tandem. She could feel the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric, and each time she inhaled, she caught a hint of his subtle cologne.

“You dance beautifully,” he murmured, drawing her just a touch closer. His voice was low, meant only for her ears.

Diana swallowed, her cheeks reddening at his compliment.

“I can only hope I remember the steps well enough. You, on the other hand,” she added lightly, “seem quite at ease.”

“Perhaps I am merely inspired by my partner.”

He offered her a half-smile, though his gaze brushed over her face with unmistakable intensity. A rush of heat threaded through her, and she nearly missed the next turn of the waltz. She steadied herself, letting the music guide her feet so she would not make a spectacle of tripping in his arms.

“They are all watching us,” she said softly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness as she caught sight of a nearby matron peering over her fan.

Gilbert’s hold on her tightened fractionally, the slight shift delivering a flash of longing to her loins.

“Let them look,” he replied almost possessively. “They shall see a wife and husband enjoying an evening’s dance.”

Her breath caught. She risked a glance upward, meeting his eyes. There, she found a trace of the same tentative longing that had haunted her since the moment he gave her the gown.

“It is difficult to mind their stares,” she whispered, “when…” She hesitated, suddenly shy.

“When what?” he pressed, his voice gentler now, as though sensing her hesitation.

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